


The Sun and Rose

by decembersiris, LearaBribage



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, EnjonineWeek2019, F/M, There is smut!, a les miserables/game of thrones crossover, day 4: mirrors, explicit - Freeform, name changes to fit GoT but still same characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 19:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20345557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decembersiris/pseuds/decembersiris, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearaBribage/pseuds/LearaBribage
Summary: Cayde Enjolras is not happy about the arrangement made between House Enjolras and House Tarre. He is, as his family wishes it, to wed Eponine Tarre for the security and prosperity of the North. He accepts this. But will he be able to give to feel anything for his bride-to-be? Will he be able to come to love her? Will she be able to love him the same?





	The Sun and Rose

**Author's Note:**

> A collab piece between LearaBribage and I. This story deals in the realm and world of Game of Thrones since she and I are huge fans of the series. For those unfamiliar with the show/book series, in simplest terms, the North and South are different regions of one continent and both have different subregions within the continent. There isn't much left to say on that honestly so hope you guys enjoy! Also there is smut so you have been warned :)

Cayde Enjolras hated the entire affair. The unnecessary extravagance—an utter and foolish waste of resources, he had continuously reminded his father—relied on excess decorations throughout the Grand Hall where the ceremony was to take place and extreme overuse of the house sigil, as if name alone was not enough to remind the Tarres of the family their daughter was marrying into. But Cayde’s father insisted their sigil—a crimson sun that Cayde found rather unintimidating—be made clear, not as a threat, but as an invitation with a touch of pride. Arrogance was the word that sat on Cayde’s tongue. But nevertheless, his father decreed it and his mother did the bidding, ensuring the servants took to their tasks and arranged the living quarters to accommodate their guests. And when House Tarre arrived just before dusk, Enjolras had half a mind to not make himself known. But Enjolras would not risk disappointing his family, nor would he debase himself with such a dishonorable act. Despite his aversion towards this wedding, one that heavily relied on the exchange of resources, he could not deny his family’s wishes.

It had been agreed upon by both parties: Lord Tarre who resided within the Reach would give his eldest daughter’s hand to a coastal Northern lord’s son. The lowly House Tarres, one of the largest suppliers of wheat, would supply food resources and their daughter in exchange for the name and power that came with the House Enjolras’s name. House Enjolras, as ruling house of the North’s coastal port, would then be able to provide the entire North with food for winter.

Cayde Enjolras abhorred the implications the wedding revealed, his inability to choose his own bride and his wife-to-be’s inability to choose for herself. It was her family’s choice to subject her to a wedding to secure greater power for the Tarre family name, greed in its simplest form. As for House Enjolras’s benefit, it could not deny that the North’s resources were dwindling, the winters growing harsher, making it difficult to supply food throughout the countryside. And while the North was strong, resilient, stubborn to the core, the thought of allowing his people to suffer in want of the barest necessities, food, warmth, security, especially against the coming bitter frost, chilled him to his bones. Not only that, but House Stark, the Warden of the North, requested it of him. And how could he deny his liege lord? Thus, Cayde, disregarding his lack of choice, agreed to give his hand to Eponine Tarre. For the good of his realm, he told himself.

The sun was sinking as the carriages arrived from the docks, the Narrow Sea spraying salty mist up towards the castle that loomed over the port city. Cayde stood with Lord and Lady Enjolras, watching as the horses—their rides holding flags with the Tarre house sigil, a rose surrounded by a spiral of thorns—approached and halted before them. He breathed heavily, watching as his breath thickly fogged before his eyes as he stared at the door of the carriage, silently trying to control the quickening beat of his heart. His fingers twitched and rubbed against each other all the while maintaining his air of indifference and neutral expression. The carriage door opened, and Cayde swallowed.

Lord and Lady Tarre stepped out, an utterly plain couple. Lord Tarre, a lanky man, was dressed in fine fabrics that looked more expensive than a low lord of the Reach could afford. His black hair was combed and groomed back, his face clean shaved, his white skin darkened by the generous warmth and sunlight that the South endlessly thrived in. His wife was a short, stout woman, dressed in just as fine attire as her husband. Her hair was wildly curled and fiery red that dangled passed her shoulders to the middle of her spine. A hard line creased her pale brow, her lips drooping to a frown, and Cayde could not believe she had the gall to wear such an expression in front of his family. A distasteful woman, he thought, struggling to hide a sneer. If they were her parents, then what would Eponine look like?

He anxiously eyed the carriage door and watched as a foot draped in the softest of blues fainter than the sky pressed against the carriage step. Out stepped a thin young woman, skin a touch warmer than porcelain and auburn hair tied up in braids. Her cheekbones were high, forehead broad, lips thin, and eyes deep and brown as her father’s. She was not entirely lovely, but not so plain as her mother and father. She stood beside her parents who proudly introduced themselves, and Cayde watched as the young lady’s eyes immediately met his. They remained indifferent though, from what he could see, and then suddenly her eyes slipped down to stare at her feet. A meek girl, this Eponine, Cayde thought.

But then he saw another girl step from the carriage, a deep forest green dress hugging her form. Her skin was just as fair as her sister’s and eyes just as dark. Her hair though, was ebony black, a stark contrast to the lightness of her skin and dangled off her shoulders down to her hips. Much to Cayde’s surprise, her features managed to surpass her sister’s. But there was a darkness about her eyes, purple rings and an air of exhaustion. Or was that sadness? But who was who? Cayde was not prepared for another sister. Was she Eponine?

“My young Lord Enjolras,” Lord Tarre stepped forward and turned his eyes on Cayde. “You are engaged to wed my eldest daughter, Eponine.” He paused and lifted his arm, palm up, to present his daughter, and Gabriel found himself to be holding his breath, watching Tarre’s arm as it rose to the one with raven’s hair. Cayde sighed gently through his nose.

“This is your bride-to-be,” said Lord Tarre, his lips curling with a satisfactory smile.

Eponine stepped forward, her emerald dress shuffling with each step. She glanced at his mother and father, “I hope I have not disappointed my Lord, my Lady,” she paused, her eyes ghosting over Cayde. “My future husband.”

Cayde shuddered, staring at her eyes, wondering what thoughts of him entered her mind.

Lady Enjolras grinned. “Not at all, dear Eponine.”

“Welcome to our home,” said Lord Enjolras.

After the Tarres introduced the other sister, the younger one, Azelma, Lord and Lady Enjolras invited the Tarres into the castle, and Cayde watched as his guests marveled at the grandness of his home. For a moment he wondered what sort of home the Tarre hailed from, imagining the sunlit fields the Reach provided, the white stone of the castle they lived in. He imagined being away from the snow and forests and the ocean’s shore he grew up in and touching white sand and sunlit fields. He imagined Éponine leading him through her country, taking him back to her home for a visit. Would she offer such a chance? Would he even want to go? As they glanced around, their footsteps echoing over the halls, Cayde eyed Eponine. She held her hands in front of her, her expression of mild disinterest, until her eyes rested on his.

Her eyes shifted then, a shadow of the look but Cayde recognized it, a look of anger, perhaps resentment. It stilled Cayde’s thoughts, and his blood rushed with sudden displeasure at her expression. But then, as if remembering herself, she blinked and looked down, and he saw again that same unhappy look in her eyes. He understood her look, that sorrowful appearance; he felt it too, and instead of bitterness towards her unspoken attitude, his heart went out to her.

Perhaps he might be able to get her alone, sneak a conversation with her, pry the mind of his future wife before vows are made. But what if he did not like what he discovered? What if she did not like what she finds in him? And what did that matter, he thought to himself. If he was to secure enough provisions for a sustainable North, the wedding must be made, regardless if the match is right or not.

But he would speak with her anyway, he decided as his father led them through the castle to the Tarres’ living quarters. He watched her as the Tarres separated to their own rooms, watched the way the candlelight shined on Eponine’s, spying the two braids at both sides of her head that met in the middle to become one. Her hair flattered her, he thought. She must take pride in it.

He heard his parents begin to walk away, and he took a step but his eyes were slow to follow. And for a moment he saw her head turn, her deep brown eyes glance his way. He was caught, and for an instance his cheeks warmed. Was it indignation he felt again? No, it was curiosity that hammered his heart. What was she thinking? But then her door creaked open and her eyes disappeared as she entered her room and closed the door to him. And so Enjolras left, trailing behind his parents, feeling slightly ashamed having been caught staring, and feeling just as unsure and unhappy about the marriage.

When darkness fell and the moon hung high above the shoreline, the dogs barking and howl to the wind that blew, Enjolras stepped out of his room, determined to speak with Eponine while the night was out. He crept through the castle, following the light of the torches and careful to keep quiet as to not to disturb the silence of the castle. When he reached her room, he felt his insides twist and blood race. Clenching his jaw, he ignored the dampness of his palms and knocked on her door.

Silence. He waited, and no answer. Perhaps she was asleep, or was this her way of rejection? He felt foolish for coming, attempted to amend his blunder by turning away, but as he stepped, he heard the doorknob click. And the door opened. There stood Lady Eponine wearing in the same dress when she had arrived that afternoon. Her eyes were dark and the flames reflected in them transforming them into brilliant amber orbs. Her hair was slightly disheveled, the braid taken out, and beneath her eyes were the same purple rings.

“My Lady,” Enjolras said, a soft greeting.

“My Lord Enjolras,” Éponine returned, her tone of mild surprise.

She kept most of her body behind the large wooden door, her hand gently clasping the end. An unwelcome surprise, Cayde surmised.

“Forgive me, Lady Eponine,” he said, noticing the inquisitive raise of her brow. “I was hoping to speak with you before turning in for the night.”

Eponine’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him, her lips a tight line. So he went on. “As you are dressed yourself, would you like to accompany me tonight? We could take a walk perhaps and get to know each other?”

Eponine did not take her eyes off of his, and he found himself struggling to read her expression. And then she sighed softly through her nose and closed her eyes. “My Lord,” she began, opening her eyes again and that was when he noticed the tint of red in the white. “We have our entire lives to get to know each other as husband and wife. And besides, I would like to be well rested for tomorrow.”

Enjolras felt his mouth dry and his heart sink. There was glassy look in her eyes that accompanied the red, and he felt his tongue move and mouth open before he could think, “Have you been crying, Lady Eponine?”

She stiffened before him, her expression transforming into a glare that outmatched any flame. “It is late, my Lord. And I would rather be alone tonight. Sleep well.”

The blood drained from Cayde Enjolras’s face, and words crawled up his throat that he barred back as her door closed to him. Disappointment at her rejection, shame at his words, and anger towards himself and her curt, unforgiving response all swirled in his mind as he stood foolishly at her door. He raked his fingers through is blond curls, huffing out a breath as his ears rang with her sharp voice. His emotions scratched and gnawed at his throat, struggling to push his thoughts aside, to stop his heart from racing, his skin from crawling. Staring at the carvings in the wood, he knew he would not degrade himself further by asking her again, by staying when he so clearly was not wanted. And so he turned away from her door, his head warm and body cold, his chest stinging as if from the bitter strike of an arrow, and returned to his lonely room, cursing the marriage.

The wedding ceremony came the next night. Enjolras stood in the Grand Hall, candles alighting every corner of the large room. His felt as if a stone had sunk into his stomach and his heart beat harder than dragon’s wings. He hated the cold sweat that dampened his palms, the dryness coating his tongue, the way both his family and hers stared up eagerly at him. His eyes remained fixed on the aisle, waiting for the figure of his bride to emerge, hoping it all would be over quickly.

Music played, surrounding the room in soft notes to announce the coming of the lady of honor. His family and guests turned toward the entrance of hall and the doors were parted. Eponine stepped through the threshold, laced in white that hugged her frame and billowed out at her hips leaving a long, elegantly woven train behind her. Cayde watched her as she walked down the aisle, her hair pulled back into braids and into a low bun. Her ebony locks were spotted with white flecks, he noticed. They reminded him of snow, and he wondered who had requested such feature for the lady who hailed from the South.

She took the steps up to where he stood. They stared at each other for a moment, and Cayde could see that her eyes were no longer red. He wanted to apologize then, but the look of indifference on her face silenced him. When the Maester prompted them, they took each other’s hands, and Enjolras did not hear what the Maester said, only could feel the cool touch of her fingers, his mind wishing to let them go and hold them tight all at once.

Their vows were said, and he scarcely heard himself say them. And when he kissed her, it was as light as a blink and her lips like bitter frost.

It was much better then that the wedding rites in the North were brief and not as lengthy as the ones they had in Southron courts. It saved them both from more terse silence and hesitant voices. While others would think that it was simply his mother’s doing, he surmised that the Lord Tarre did not truly care as much. Only that since the pact has been set in stone, House Tarre would now rise in rank and repute. Then again, what did it matter? House Enjolras would survive well past the coming winters to come with their harvest.

He attempted a glance beside him, and found that the Lady Eponine had scarcely touched the food on her plate. Her dark eyes were looking beyond the room, and he surmised this as her way of keeping her mien remain neutral. Cayde eyed his meal, his appetite equaling hers in fervor. Breathing through his nose, he picked up his goblet and let the drink at least fill his stomach. He heard her do the same, and it made his lips curl even for a bit but soon enough, his attention was taken away when his mother neared their table.

“It is time,” she said, glancing furtively to his bride, who eyed his mother with furrowed brows. When she realized the implication of the awkward pause, Eponine turned away quickly, but not quickly enough that he was able to discern the tears that would have fallen had she not exhaled and let her face become a blank mask again.

After another lengthy pause, they both stood. Noise erupted in the whole hall, and he saw some people from both households laugh heartily and raise their goblets to toast him. He kept his face carefully devoid of emotion, so as not to distress Eponine further. Beside him, she raised her chin, and he met her hand in the terse air as they walked towards her room. A small crowd comprised of the heads of their household followed them, so he stood tall and made sure his voice was measured and firm when he asked them for privacy to perform their duty.

“Oh, certainly!” Lady Tarre exclaimed with a loud laugh that made Enjolras ball his other hand into a fist. The crowd departing, the Lord Tarre turned briefly and eyed his daughter with a hard stare. Eponine met it with one of her own, and Enjolras realized where the coldness comes from.

It was quite ironic, them having their roots come from the South, and yet there was none of that infamous openness and warmth found in their veins. He shook his head, trying not to think of them as enemies. In a time such as theirs, their enemy is a friend in another road to the same castle. He steeled himself, breathing through his nose. Once they were alone, he released her grasp from his. He took a dagger from the folds of his garb and waited for a few more seconds to determine that there were no idlers outside their door.

“What is this, my Lord?” the Lady Eponine asked, shifting away from him with a cold stare. “Another Northern custom? I don’t think I’ve read of it. If you kill me, you will have broken oath.”

He shook his head, and kept silent, tilting his head towards the direction of the door. When he was satisfied that there were no more steps passing by, he replied, tone curt. “That was not my intent, my Lady.”

Realizing his purpose, she still arched a brow as he strode towards the bed. She followed him, her footsteps gradual and hesitant. They sat with quite a distance. Using his dagger, he cut a small slit across his forearm and let the blood flow and paint the pristine white sheets. “This is only to cement the idea of our marriage in the eyes of the law. We need not do it. At least, not yet.”

“Have I failed you?” she whispered in the silence as he rose, heading to a wall near the hearth.

Enjolras stilled, pivoting towards her in anger. “I put your best interests at heart so we do not have to do something that both reviles us, yet still you taunt me, after your coldness all day?”

She raised her chin, meeting his glare as he towered over her. “I am not cold, my Lord,” she hissed, hands fisting the folds of her white dress. “But you would do well to remember that even heat kills.”

“So it does,” he retorted with a snarl, blue eyes flashing. “My Lady.”

He straightened, hurrying to press the false wall to get to his room. He did not look at her anymore when he bid her farewell before leaving her solar. Enjolras earlier resolved that he would at least introduce her to the labyrinthine features of his home, but he scratched that thought and surmised that there were other things he had better take care of than an ungrateful bride.

_ Wife_, he corrected himself with a sneer. Cayde dreaded what tomorrow would bring if this night indicated what he would have to look forward to in the future with her.

A few months into the marriage, they had quickly established a routine. He would busy himself with training soldiers with the master-at-arms while she was with his mother to oversee how they managed their household. It took the rest of their mornings, so when afternoons came, he would be riding through their lands with his father and other men to hunt or visit nearby villages to distribute some of their spoils and report the results back to his mother and her for proper storage. When this was settled so, he usually found Eponine sewing or reading by herself in her room as he passed by. Some days, they answered concerns together, but it was rare enough that they were able to keep from fighting each other.

When suppers came, they would sit beside each other and make small talk in spite of the bubbling tension that would arise when one or the other said something that unnerved them. He would still walk her to her room in the evenings, keeping the guise of their marriage. When someone passed or was nearby, she’d let him kiss her hand or her cheek, but otherwise, they maintained no contact. 

However, their routine was slightly altered when his mother called him on a day when he and Eponine were put to the task of listening to certain concerns of those who needed their help. They were speaking with the last person who required more aid in keeping pests away from his farm. Enjolras nodded to Eponine briefly before walking towards his mother. Eponine shrugged her shoulders, facing the farmer.

“We will send you food while your fields heal with these farming methods I have written here, and thereafter, I will personally visit to assess it,” he heard her say in the distance.

Enjolras arched a brow when his mother stared at him likewise. “What is it, mother?”

She beckoned him to come closer in the alcove. “Most people have yet to realize this, and I commend you for your patience with the Lady Eponine, but there is still no child to be held and sing in these halls. You two _ must _ still perform your duty, or else shame both old gods and new with your reservations.”

He froze. “Did the Lady—?”

His mother shook her head. “No, she has not, and she equivocates as much as you do about it. Not that she need ever tell me anything. I see no glow upon her cheeks and find intimacy between you two lacking. Though you are both careful, the Maester has asked me twice when he would be expecting to assist the Lady Eponine. _ Twice_. I do not think your father and I can continue moving the topic to another before the Maester and the rest of the castle notice that another moon or two have passed, and yet no babe is to be found.”

Cayde gritted his teeth, bowing stiffly. “Understood, mother. I will speak to her about it.” 

“You must,” she said, leveling him with another stare before departing.

Enjolras nodded, pivoting to stare at Eponine. She rose from her seat, glancing at him before quickly looking away. His eyes followed the movement of her long dark tresses as her hips swayed. Somehow, the motion hit him low and made him shift uncomfortably. While he agreed that there was no intimacy, there was something about their nightly sparring that made him feel that some unspoken thing was going on. Too many suppers he observed had given him the same result. Each time they bickered, their faces would be nearer, and once or twice, he reckoned, he felt a jolt of lightning pass between them whenever their skin brushed accidentally. The promenade to their rooms, though silent, was tinged with not just terse undercurrents, but something that made him burn inside when he stole glances at her and found the moon shading her hair, highlighting her form and making him focus on her soft visage. He wondered if it was the same for her, or if he was simply lonely and feeling frustrated with her quick-witted retorts.

He found his answer hours later as they walked together in the long hallway after supper.

“My lady,” he started, careful to keep his voice low as he whispered. She glanced at him, arching a brow. “My mother has alerted me to the fact that unless we perform our duty, the reputations of both House Enjolras and House Tarre would soon be questioned.”

Eponine stilled, and Cayde watched as she did her best to keep her composure when a septa passed by. Her hand was already laid over his arm, so they were able to still very much pass the image of husband and wife on a stroll. They both nodded to the old maid who greeted them with a short bow before departing. He watched her breathe through her nose before eyeing him.

“I’ve received a similar missive from my lady mother. Let us be quick about it,” she said in a rush, tone stilted as she held her black wraps, the hand on his arm tightening. Nodding, they entered her room and stared at each other, then the bed, and then back at each other again. He looked away, his cheeks reddening.

“Perhaps we must be comfortable first,” he suggested. Eponine didn’t answer at first, dropping her wraps and removing her boots. He arched a brow, startled. “What are you doing?”

She eyed him, and he swallowed before turning away and removing his coat and boots as well. “We do not have to do be fully bare, if it discomforts you.”

He heard her sigh. “I will not be taken with discomfort, so will you unlace this dress so I can at least have my shifts to be comfortable?”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to shift too much. He looked above her head before going behind her to carefully do as she said. She moved her long hair, and his eyes traced the outline of her graceful neck. He swallowed and then cursed inwardly, seeing the convoluted way the silk ties were braided behind her. He gritted his teeth, his fingers, usually firm with a blade, were shaking slightly as he went through and finished removing the soft laces of her emerald garb. Why it has to be so thickly spun he doesn’t understand, he thought, exhaling as the dress fell to her feet. He saw her stiffen at the movement, so he quickly strode towards the bed and sat at the foot of it, his eyes fixed on the hearth. He relaxed a little, letting the wave of its warmth calm him until she walked in front of him.

A gentle breeze passed by, making her underclothes billow and hug her figure. His felt his mouth run dry before he stood up, and she sat on the bed instead. Eponine arched a brow at him, a little bit of uncertainty blanketing her usually neutral visage. He breathed through his nose. “Close your eyes, if you like,” he whispered, his mouth hovering over her neck. When he smelled something he recognized as wild roses, he could not help himself from pressing soft kisses on her skin. He heard her exhale slowly. “Are those roses?”

“Yes, but what are you doing?” her voice soft, as his fingers hovered over the outline of her body, his heart beating loudly.

“Making you comfortable,” he answered, her scent and supple body against his rough fingers making him feel heady and dazed. He moved downward slowly, the bridge of his nose drifting over the fabric of her shifts. His lips brushed over her breasts accidentally, and he heard her breath hitch. He grasped her thighs and caressed it with his knuckles, making her legs move apart a bit. When his head was under her shifts, he kissed her legs slowly before rubbing the insides of her legs with his fingers. She jolted, but otherwise did not move away from him as he parted her hairs and gently nudged the sensitive nub of her lower lips. When he flicked his tongue over it, her legs crossed behind his shoulders, making him nearer to her sweet scent. His lids fell as her scent filled his senses. Swallowing, he slid a finger in as he licked her clit with the broad of his tongue.

He repeated the ministrations a few more times before slipping another finger and playing with her clit, sucking it again and again. She was writhing, breathing hard, and his head was swimming, he could only think of her and the rhythm of their sweet breaths dancing together as she got louder and louder with her moans. He gripped her hips, lapping the folds of her sex and raising her so he could kiss her harder again and again.

“Enjolras!” she screamed, the force of her climax shaking her as her whole body went limp afterwards. He could not seem to stop kissing her though, drinking her juices with reverence as he gently caressed her legs. When he was finished, he licked what was left on his fingers before wiping himself clean. His eyes were still closed, savouring the taste of her when he felt Eponine sit on his lap. He had scarcely opened his eyes when she grabbed his face and kissed him so fiercely.

He pressed his lips against her soft mouth, giving everything back as she deepened the kiss with her tongue. Enjolras gasped loudly when she ground her sex across the length of his shaft. His lids falling, his heart was beating so quickly, and he felt so warm, the slickness of her wetness making him grind back before he laid her on the bed. Her lips slanted away, and his breath hitched when he found her eyes darker than usual as she stared back at him. She was panting. Her full mouth was swollen flush, her cheeks incarnadine with their combined heat. Her dark hair fanned out across the pillows, and her arms wreathed his neck. He felt lightness fill his whole being as they joined again and again, the intensity of her cries matching his.

As they reached climax, he moved away from her lips to look at her. His lips fell apart at her expression. She was sublime, and he could only gasp as she took his face and succumb to the way her lips made him feel like flying. _ How does she do it? _ he thought, wondering how they could be like this, after months of civility? Was he right, after all? That Eponine, despite her abrasive demeanor towards him, could actually feel something for him after all? Could she find it in herself to love him, as he was starting to realize that after all those charged exchanges, he might be falling in love with her?

When it was over, he could only clutch her form in his exhaustion. His fingers gently grazed her sides, the seed of his love inside her as he removed his cock and laid his head beside hers, his nose brushing her cheeks. Before long, Enjolras blanked out and fell into a deep sleep with her.

The weeks that followed the consummation of their marriage found them at an unspoken arrangement. Yes, they would still bicker over the most menial things of their household, but most times, he’d sense her staring at him from afar after he has returned from foraging or training. _ Heat kills, _ she once said, but right now, Enjolras could only think of the warmth of her mouth and how it made him feel like he’s no longer just existing to be the Lord of their household. Or that theirs was a marriage forged by a pact between families. _ No, that’s not how things are anymore_, he thought, his face pensive as he eyed the glint of light in her raven hair when he passed by her reading in her solar again.

“My lord?” she called him when her dark eyes drifted to him. _ You belong here, _ he thought, staring back at her and finding that her dress was dyed like the blue-grey sky and lined with silver leaves at the base of her silks. Her raven hair was down and only held with a simple braid just as Northerners did. He licked his lips unconsciously, and he shifted, the image of her striking him low.

He strode towards her, leaning by the edge of her door. “What is it, my lady?”

She closed her book, holding her black wraps as she walked up to him. “I am to visit Bennar Graen, the farmer, whose crops were aflutter with pests previously. Have your horses been well-rested?”

Nodding, he placed a hand on the back of her waist. “I shall lead you to the place as well. It is not too far, but there are still wild deers about that warrants us at least a few soldiers following behind.”

When they arrived to the fields a few hours later, Enjolras was about to help her alight from her horse when she did it by herself. He swallowed thickly, following her as she greeted Bennar Graen, who bowed deeply at the sight of the two of them.

“How goes your produce, Graen?” he asked, as the wizened man led them to the fields behind his hut.

“Very well, milord,” said Bennar with a big smile. “I’ve fellewed milady’s words to the letter, which me daughter reads me, and so far, I’ve net seen’t mice and locusts ebet here.”

Eponine looked at the grains that were properly stored nearby, and nodded. “It’s a big improvement,” she concurred, her hands on her waist. “Anything else that troubles your crops?”

The old farmer scratched his neck, holding his hat. “Well, me daughter fend a snake or two some weeks past, and though, I hack on it with my ax, could me daughter and me do something else?”

“It would do you a lot of good to plant wormwood around here, and scare them with the smell of white lily root,” she answered, a finger on her chin, her eyes serious. “I’ll send stag’s horn or goat’s hoof a few days from now as well since it works just like the white lilies.”

His lips curled when Eponine turned to him after they’ve bid Bennar Graen good tidings after. “We should send them fur-lined clothes when winter comes, my lord,” she said. “Where do they even stay when the winds are too harsh?”

“We usually open Castle Blackwyk when Winterfell needs another family to provide refuge,” he replied, his hand on her warm back after they’ve arrived and were walking towards the hall for supper. “But yes, we shall send them that and fix the walls on their home with stone before winter arrives.”

She nodded effusively, sitting beside him as they began the meal, talking occasionally with none of them bickering for the most of the evening in the hall. Enjolras caught his parents staring pointedly, and he looked away, his cheeks reddening. When they have ended supping, her hands slipped over his arm, almost instinctively, and his heart squeezed not uncomfortably. His thoughts were still astir with the way she effectively handled Graen’s problems earlier when she spoke softly as they arrived at the door of her room.

“We are here, my lord.”

It was very simple, the way she said it, but she specifically said _ we_, not _ I would rather be alone tonight _ anymore, and Cayde Enjolras could not take it any longer. He grabbed her waist and kissed her fiercely, just as she did all those moons ago when she held his face. He felt her shiver when his finger traced the outline of her spine, and just when he thought that she would not probably respond to his forwardness, Eponine clutched the collars of his sable shirt and pressed herself against him, their bodies colliding, their hearts dancing to sweet music only they can hear.

And no one, _ no one _ else in the world could make his soul sing like she did. Her lips were soft and haunting against his, whispering his name with a promise, “You are my home now.”

He kissed her deeply, willing with all his might to make her feel how much he loves her. She wreathed her arms around his neck as Enjolras kissed her tears away, not minding the ones that fell from his own eyes as they held each other. He pressed his lips on her lids, and placed his forehead on hers, his heart light.

They held each other for a long while before at last he spoke, sharing her promise.

“And you are mine.” 


End file.
